Night Music

Chapter 2: Trouble in SoHo

"When I heard you mention opera, I thought you were referring to software," Travis said. "A murder involving a web browser, now that's something I'd like to investigate."

Neal's smile turned into a yawn. He'd been one of the fortunate ones and had been able to return home at two o'clock. Mozzie knew what was coming. He'd slipped out as soon as the waitress screamed.

Neal was glad he could be there for Sonya. He'd had a bad feeling that the victim was her missing oboist friend, and he was right. The man had been killed with a carving knife plunged straight into his heart. El was almost as upset as Sonya since it had been one of the catering crew's knives.

Trevor was incoherent with grief. Koro was his boyfriend. The police were anxious to question him, but he was too overwrought to provide much of anything useful. Everyone was questioned and fingerprinted before they were allowed to go home.

Neal spent the day in his art niche in the lab, catching up on the Interpol art bulletins ... and doodling. He hadn't made a new cartoon for his bulletin board in a while. He glanced around the lab for inspiration and was startled to see an unknown man and woman walk in. Strangers didn't normally enter the lab unless they were escorted. The woman's grin gave her away. Diana and Jones were wearing their new disguises.

Diana had a wig with short kinky curls which resembled dreadlocks. Jones went all the way with dreadlocks down his back, a short beard and mustache. His casual open-collared shirt allowed his wooden bead necklace to be clearly visible. Neal chuckled with appreciation. Now that he'd succeeded in loosening him up, the pool table in the bullpen he'd long been requesting couldn't be far off.

Jones grinned sheepishly to the whoops and cheers aimed at the two of them when they revealed their identities while Diana encouraged still more by striking a cocky pose.

"Nobody can call Jones Flattop now," she told Neal.

"Whereas you are as Breathless as ever."

"I'll take that as a compliment ... once, but don't make it a habit unless you fancy being called Lion Cub again."

Neal winced at her use of Klaus's nickname. "Duly noted. Are you on your way out?"

She nodded. "We've worked up a surveillance schedule for the next several evenings."

"I went ahead and called the Winchesters," Jones added. "They're at a job in New Jersey and offered to stop by for a few days. They'll patrol the area for any sign of Crowley or vampires."

By the time Jones and Diana left, it was late enough that Neal could duck out without raising eyebrows. He made a short detour to his desk in the bullpen. The stack of papers in his document tray was mercifully low. There was only one item left on his agenda—calling Henry. If the Winchesters were taking the threat seriously, Henry needed to be warned. Henry was still at work, if you could call it that. He was playing pool with a couple of members of his team when Neal called him.

"I told Peter I wouldn't go to Riffs till it was declared fang-free and you'll no doubt want to do the same," Neal said.

"Do you honestly think there could be vampires at Riffs?" Henry asked.

"It's possible," Neal said, hedging his answer. "They look like normal people. You'd never know you were talking with a vampire unless they decided to feast on you."

"What about those special ones? The ones that Astrena created?"

"Those are the pure-bloods and there are no clues with them either. That pure-blood vampire in West Virginia wasn't wearing a cape. There was no hint of fangs. He was pale, but so are many rock musicians."